People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, because those stones always come hurtling back. She doesn't throw stones, but still pebbles are thrown at her house.

Well, they used to be pebbles...now they're good sized stones.

Back when the stones were actually pebbles, she didn't worry too much. The walls of her glass house were thick, strong enough to stand against the clicks of pebbles on glass. But after a while, the pebbles began to scuff the glass, then leave little cracks.

With each hit, the cracks increased, spider-webbing out in intricate patterns that made her sick to her stomach.

She would sigh and go and fetch the glue. And the glue would hold for a little while, or maybe the pebbles would just stop tapping against her glass walls.

It's been so long now that she doesn't remember.

Then somewhere along the way, the pebbles shifted into stones. Each time a chunk of compacted earth hit, little slivers of glass would jump from the spiderweb cracks and sparkle on the floor.

She tried, or had tried once upon a time, to pick up each sliver of glass and put it back. All that she had ended up with was bloody fingers and prickling eyes.

She had decided that the pain wasn't worth it and had instead retreated into the depths of her glass house and tried to ignore the pitter patter of stones against her walls. It had worked for a while.

But slowly, the slivers became chunks and it was all she could do to keep from falling apart.

But the world always found it's way into her house, breaking and shattering the walls and bursting into her privacy. After a while, she just stopped caring. People, she had come to understood, would always come into her life to break and smash everything she had.

Her glass house was breaking, shattering, and with it went little bits of happiness. People were judging, hateful creatures, and they were always going to throw stones. And she was always caught in the crossfire.

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